


Anything

by autohaptic, rent_a_gundam



Series: Rent-a-Gundam [66]
Category: Gundam & Related Fandoms, Gundam 00
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Dubious Consent, Humiliation, M/M, Murder, Non-Consensual Violence, Quantum Brainwaves, Submission, Telepathy, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-01
Updated: 2009-04-01
Packaged: 2017-12-07 20:20:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/752653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autohaptic/pseuds/autohaptic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/rent_a_gundam/pseuds/rent_a_gundam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Allelujah will do anything that Hallelujah tells him to. Anything at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anything

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of the sprawling Rent-a-Gundam series: a university/rent-boy!AU that was co-written by Veda, Auto, Orange and Typo. An in-universe timeline can be seen here: <http://rent-a-gundam.livejournal.com/731.html>.
> 
> ***
> 
> This story was written by Auto and Orange.
> 
> Originally posted here: <http://rent-a-gundam.livejournal.com/4274.html>.

"Worthless-- fucking-- _slut_ ," Halle pants, tightening his hand around the back of Al's neck. Allelujah closes his eyes and tries not to choke on Halle's cock as it rams mercilessly down his throat.

"You don't deserve my cock, you little bitch. You don't deserve to _live_."

Whimpering around his twin's erection, Al struggles to breathe. He doesn't struggle very hard.

"I know virgins who give better head than you. I know _dogs_ who give better head than you. The only thing you're good for is keeping my cock warm when I'm not jerking off. Isn't that right, whore?"

Allelujah lifts his head slightly, trembling, and swallows around Halle's cock. The soft grunt of lust from above him is utterly, utterly beautiful. With Halle straddling his chest, pinning him to the bed, the only movements he can make are the ones he's allowed to. It suits him perfectly.

"I said, isn't that _right_?" Halle shoves Al's head back down and pulls his cock out. Al whines helplessly at the loss, nodding; his tongue darts out to moisten his lips. Halle's mind presses against his, demanding and dominating, overwhelming him with vicarious pleasure.

"Yes. _Yes_. Please, Hallelu--"

He doesn't get to finish the name; Halle shuts him up in the best way. With a heartfelt moan, he gets back to work, straining to suck Halle's cock despite the restrictive position.

"Yes, yes, yes. It's always yes with you, slut. I could have you in the middle of the fucking street. I could have you in front of all your cocksucking coworkers at that shitty little thrift store. I could fuck you stupid and stream it live on the Internet and you'd let me fucking do it, wouldn't you? You'd _beg_ me for it if I fucking told you to."

This time, when Hallelujah pulls away, Al's nods are nothing short of frantic. He doesn't care what Halle is saying, just that if he agrees to everything he can have a mouthful of cock again.

It works, of course.

He's distantly aware of some noise in the background, but what matters is the cock in his mouth and the vicious flood of sensory echoes drowning his mind. Nothing else, except maybe the way his whole body tightens every time Halle speaks, or the exquisite way Halle's quantum brainwaves force his thoughts into patterns of humiliation and submission.

"You'd do anything for me, you piece of shit. You'd drink my piss and tell me _thank you_ for the privilege."

With their connection open as wide as it is, with Halle's thoughts surrounding his, Al can feel how much his brother is into this. He shudders uncontrollably, moaning around Halle's cock.

The noise gets louder.

"Fuck." Halle's voice is tight and breathy, the touch of his mind rough against Al's. "You'd _kill_ someone if I told you, wouldn't you."

Al can't think. No: he can, and it's all submission, all desire. "Yes," he pants the minute Halle's cock leaves his mouth. "Yes, yes, _yes_ , Hallelujah."

"Fucking whore." Halle scrambles off the bed, yanking Al to his feet, and kisses him until their mouths are full of blood. "You're going to show that little cunt down the hall what a _real_ nightmare is, aren't you."

He finally understands that sound. It's screaming. "Yes, Halle." The boy in the neighbouring apartment. Seventeen at most, turns tricks to pay the rent, makes a lot of noise in his sleep.

"Going to tear the fucker up for me. Teach him to yammer while I'm trying to fuck your filthy throat. Aren't you, Al?"

"Ye-es," he moans, unable to tear his eyes away from Hallelujah's face. The way Halle's eyes gleam means bad, bad things, and if he follows orders maybe those things will happen to _him_. If he's lucky.

"If you do it right, I'll fuck you. Bend you over him while he's still warm and nail you until you're the one doing the screaming. You'd like that, wouldn't you, slut?"

Al licks his lips again and shivers. "Yes."

"Then do it." Halle grabs Al by the throat, kisses him again just to make the point, and shoves him towards the door. Al doesn't know if Halle's going to follow him. He does know he's not allowed to put on clothes for this.

He opens the front door to the apartment-- naked, his cock heavy with blood-- and steps out into the hall. At the kid's door he almost reconsiders, almost goes back to find something he can use to pick the lock. But it's a cheap-shit door and breaking it won't make that much noise. He slams into it once, twice, and he's through.

The screaming doesn't even falter. He follows the sound into the bedroom, sucking blood from his lower lip where Halle's teeth broke the skin. His brother's mind is all over him, pushing and pulling in all the right places, but he can't tell where Halle _is_. Not that it matters.

Waking up the kid is a simple matter of wrapping a hand around his neck and lifting him out of bed. The screams cut off abruptly, transformed into an ugly, pathetic choking sound. Kind of like Al with Halle's cock in his mouth, actually. He smiles-- smirks-- at the thought.

Then he lets go, because Halle would want to hear the little bitch beg for his life. _Do it right._ That means do it how Hallelujah would do it.

"Jesus!" The kid shrinks back against the wall. "Get away from me!"

Al just smiles distantly. "I'm following orders," he murmurs through bloody lips.

The whimpering is a lot like Al's, too. On the other hand, the desperate lunge is anything but; it's laughably slow, clumsy, unpracticed. Allelujah sidesteps, grabs the kid's outstretched arm, and snaps it.

Funny thing. Scream when you're asleep, scream when you're awake: it'll sound about the same.

He can feel Hallelujah jerking off-- leaning back against a wall, eyes shut, one hand on his cock and the other flat to the cracked and peeling wallpaper-- as he shifts his grip to squeeze the broken bones in his hand. The kid wails. Al's breath catches when he feels Halle's reaction.

 _Finish it_ , says the pressure in his head, in Halle's low husky voice.

Obediently, Al lets go of the kid's arm. The screams trail off into whimpers, then into words.

"Please, don't hurt me. Please. You want money? You want me to suck your cock? I'll-- I'll do anything, just please don't kill me, man..."

Allelujah opens his mouth. "I want you to shut the fuck up," says Halle, moving Al's lips and tongue along with his own. "I want you to shut the fuck up and get on your knees. Think you can do that for me, bitch?"

Some part of the kid has to know he's not getting out of this one. He obeys anyway. Al thinks he understands the impulse.

He steps forward and grabs the kid's neck in both hands, staring into those wide brown eyes, feeling Halle look through him. Lifting the underfed teen off the ground is pathetically easy. Al slams him back into the wall almost without effort, then lets go again, determined to do it _right_.

His teeth meet in the tender flesh of the boy's throat. He yanks his head back and spits out the mouthful, then throws the twitching body back into bed. There's blood everywhere-- wall, bed, floor. Al runs a shaking hand down his chest; it comes away red and sticky.

Halle walks into the room.

"Get on the bed, slut. Hands and knees. Face against the wall."

Allelujah scrambles to do as he's told.

"Good thing you made it nice and messy for me. Hey, maybe you're good for something after all. My little hitman."

He squeezes his eyes shut, feeling Halle's hands grab the cheeks of his ass and spread them apart. Feeling, through their connection, when Halle reaches down to coat his fingers in blood.

It makes terrible lube. Al doesn't care. Not when those fingers hook into him, ripping a moan from his throat; not when Halle's cock follows, and the first thrust slams his head into the wall hard enough to fill the space behind his eyelids with light.

"Mmmm, nice and _fresh_. Don't you love it, Allelujah?"

"Yes," he whimpers, pushing urgently back into Halle's savage pounding.

"Don't you love my cock? Don't you love tasting blood when I fuck you? Don't you love what I do to you, slut?"

His hands clench in the warm, soggy sheets. "Yes-- yes-- y- _yes_ \--"

"You like it when I hurt you, whore. You like being nothing but a couple of holes for my cock. You _love_ my cock. You love it best when you're _choking_ on it and when you're taking it up the ass over some motherfucker's _corpse_. Isn't that right?"

"Yes," Al sobs, pressing his cheek into the drying stain on the wall. "Yes, oh, yes yes y-- _aahhhhhh!_ "

The scream comes when Halle's hand fists in his hair, yanking his head back, and Halle's nails rake down his spine. He fights for breath, a losing battle, and feels his untouched cock spasm.

As his semen splatters the cooling body beneath him, to the sound of remembered pleas for mercy echoing in both their minds, everything goes dark.

◊

"We're gonna have to move again," Halle says.

Al hears the words at a distance as he blinks his way into reluctant consciousness. He's sprawled uncomfortably in a warm, sticky mess. Not the first time that's happened, but--

Memory reasserts itself. He scrambles, choking, out of the dead kid's bed. The body is on the floor; he stumbles over it and sinks to his knees on the bloodstained carpet.

Hallelujah is standing in the doorway with an armful of bottles. Turpentine. The whole train of reasoning flashes through Al's mind: DNA evidence (so to speak) on the bed and the body. Fire is the easiest way to obscure that. And either way they need to get out of town, so why not make a memorable exit?

He lunges to his feet and shoves Halle out of his head with force.

"Son of a fucking bitch!"

For a breath-stealing second he's not sure which one of them said the words. But Halle is smirking lazily at him, the smile that covers defeat, and his thoughts are his own now. For once.

"Memorable exit," he mutters, swaying. "You're insane, Halle."

"I'm not the one who just committed murder because I'm addicted to my brother's cock," Halle points out. "Now c'mon. Let's get this shit set up and then blow this popsicle stand."

Al coughs. His head is spinning; his sense of balance feels unstable, like up could become down at any moment.

"Aw. Who's got a pwecious concussion?"

"Bite me." He staggers past his twin and out of the room.

"Maybe later."

Maybe if he makes it out of earshot he won't have to listen to that familiar voice anymore.

 _Always leaving me to clean up your messes,_ Halle teases silently.

Or not.

Allelujah slams pure anger back along the connection so hard it makes his teeth hurt.

When the response is silence, physical and cerebral, he almost turns around. Almost. Then he dismisses the thought that he might have actually _hurt_ his brother as laughable.

The task of rinsing the blood off his body, finding some clothes, and packing a bag is blessedly mechanical. He doesn't have to think. The only question is how long until Halle tugs at his brain, telling him it's time to go. The only decision is what to take with him (money, clothes, Halle's knives, a few of their cheap dollar-store dishes) and what to leave behind (books, shitty furniture, shittier bedsheets).

After four minutes, he's standing at the door to their apartment (again, oh god) and the static in his head is getting disturbing. He reaches out. Halle's mind is razor-edged and frigid.

 _We can't-- **I** can't do this anymore,_ he says into the chilly silence.

Halle throws contempt at him like a handful of sand, meant to blind and distract. _Are you fucking breaking up with me, Al?_

 _I'm not your boyfriend,_ he points out. _I'm your brother. And this isn't healthy._

 _Fuck healthy._ He can feel Halle's fingers strike the match. _Let's go._

They leave the building through separate exits, Al with his meagre bag of salvage, Halle with nothing at all. He waits until they're both clear before trying to speak again; the faint ringing in his ears distracts him, making it hard to speak, to think. Same difference.

 _This thing we have._ The words feel hot and angry in his head. _This obsession we have, Halle. It isn't going to end well. We need to be around other people. Do something other than hide in our bedroom and fuck and--_

He cuts off before the last two words _(kill people)_ , and Halle doesn't provide them. It's the first concession the bastard has made. The second comes a moment later. _We should go to university,_ he offers, light as anything; Halle's always been the one who can modulate his emotions to order. _I always wanted to be a doctor._

Al expresses wordless disbelief.

_Well, no. But it sounds good, doesn't it?_

The ghosts of gentle fingertips brush his cheek. Al doesn't-- quite-- flinch away. He thinks of Halle, standing in the middle of the alley with his hand to his face, and turns down a side street that connects with the road Halle is facing.


End file.
